Everybody loves a Clowwn. Especially when they're slashing your face with razor-sharp guitars and then dragging you relentlessly down some post-punk, seedy glam back alley for a syncopated kicking and a venomous discourse on the myths of masculinity in the modern world. With Andrew Claridge on squealing six-string, Etienne Rodes on the fat four, Damo Waters keeping the rumbling beat and Miles Heathfield holding forth on the death of religion and the nature of evil, Clowwns conjure cracked-mirror visions of Dylan Thomas in his drunken disco period, Graham Greene fronting a fuzz-crazed Sparks, or a young Orson Welles luring Queens of the Stone Age and the Eighties Matchbox B-line Disaster to the circus big top of their deepest unconscious desires. Literary but visceral, pounding but pop-savvy, Clowwns' thumping great art-rock has the answers to all your worries. You'll love it, really. http://www.clowwns.com/
